Through the Screen
by estrafalaria103
Summary: Kurt is in the middle of a grueling first year working at Chicago Grace Hospital, alongside fellow interns Rachel, Santana, Mike, and Sebastian. Between getting in on surgeries, working long hours, and studying for the Boards, he doesn't have time to date. Until, that is, a cute young victim of a fire downtown comes in, and makes Kurt reevaluate his priorities.


**A/N: So this will end up being a series of one-shots, basically taking our beloved Glee characters and plopping them into different TV universes. So far I'm planning on Lost, X-Files, Law & Order, and Supernatural, though I'm always open to suggestions. Primarily Klaine, as per usual, but there will probably be some Seblaine at some point and, if I get my way, my favorite crack!ship Blaintana (stupid Season 4 pretty much demolished that. I don't think they had a single scene together, grumble grumble).**

Kurt really, really, really needs some coffee right around now. He had early morning rounds – although, really, who considers 3 a.m. to be early morning rather than a late evening is beyond him – and he'd had to cover for Santana's late night rounds. He's nearing the 24 hour mark and all that he wants to do is go home, crawl under his covers, and sleep for his full rest period. Unfortunately, he can't do any of that until after he's finish his last eight hours.

Of course, all of his friends are coming off a night off, and are as perky, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as he's ever seen them. Sebastian's styled his hair within an inch of its life, as usual, and is sporting a brand new and rather impressive hickey on the left side of his neck. He keeps smirking at everyone as he takes far longer to change into his scrubs than is strictly necessary. Mike is humming and dancing around the dressing room, doing a little twirl each time that he has to reach into his locker. Rachel's even bothered to put on lipgloss, and she gives him a warm hug when she walks in.

In this moment, Kurt hates all of them.

"Did you hear the news?" Mike asks nonchalantly, crossing the Velcro on his shoes. He takes Kurt's complete lack of response for an affirmative answer, and continues on a moment later. "We're getting a new cardio attending today."

"I hear he's absolutely gorgeous," Sebastian agrees. "Hopefully he bats for our team, eh, Hummel?"

Kurt rolls his eyes, and continues to attempt to fit an entire granola bar into his mouth at one time. Normally he would be disgusted by his utter lack of manners, but at this point he needs the energy, the sustenance, and dear _God_ does he ever need the chocolate.

Rachel gasps at their colleagues comment. "Sebastian! You can't just. . .you can't just have a relationship with an attending."

"Oh, honey, sex isn't a relationship."

Rachel's eyes almost cross at that comment, and she lifts one hand to her breast, the very picture of a distressed Southern gentlelady. Kurt snorts. It would play out a lot better if they weren't in the middle of Chicago, where women, though as unfailingly polite and pleasant as any of the Midwestern men around, aren't exactly fainting damsels. Sometimes Kurt thinks that Rachel is more suited to life in the south, where her colleagues and patients might give her a kiss on the back of the hand. Then again, with her histrionics, she's probably better off on a Broadway stage, or accepting an Academy Award.

"I don't know that you can really talk," Mike says. "Aren't you in a relationship with Hudson?"

She lifts her nose and snorts indelicately. So much for being prone to the vapors. "That is my personal business."

"Besides," Sebastian says, _finally_ pulling on a shirt and closing his locker. "Hudson's just an E.M.T."

"E.M.T.s are some of the most important first responders," Rachel huffs. "For someone who wants to be a trauma surgeon, you should show a little more respect for the people responsible for finding and rescuing your patients."

"They're overpaid preschool teachers," Sebastian says. "All they do is put a band-aid on people's boo-boos and wait for a real doctor to treat them."

Rachel's hands have balled into a fist, and Kurt almost has to chuckle at the image in front of him. Sebastian's a pretty tall guy to begin with, and Rachel is absolutely _tiny_, so the sight of her, shaking with fury, ready to go at the other man is just ludicrous to begin with. Normally, Kurt would secretly relish all of the drama (though, of course, he'd have to roll his eyes and pretend to disdain it – he _does_ have a reputation to maintain, after all) but right now he's just tired and cranky, and wants to go home. A fight carries with it the remote possibility that he'll have to stay late to write a report, or speak to the Chief of Surgery. Neither are a pleasant experience on any day, but today in particular he thinks he would rather die.

He grabs Rachel's arm and begins towing her out of the room to begin rounds. "He's not worth it," he says. "Overconfident meerkat face is just going to fail his boards at the end of the year, and everybody knows it. So next year, when we get to move up, he'll still just be an intern."

"I suppose," Rachel says, a little doubtfully. She flicks her long, brown hair over one shoulder. Kurt can tell that she's still a little miffed, and he doesn't blame her, not really, but they've been around Sebastian for almost a year now. She should be used to it.

"You're late," Dr. Yang snaps at them when they arrive to pick up their charts. Kurt just manages to reign in an eyeroll, because he knows perfectly well that they are not late, thank you very much. Dr. Yang just runs everything five minutes ahead of time, and no matter how often she's told that she has to follow the same clocks as everyone else in the hospital, she steadfastly refuses to do so, at least when it comes to her interns. Dr. Yang is admittedly brilliant, but Kurt really wishes he'd been assigned to just about anyone else.

"Don't worry about picking up a chart," dr. Yang says. "The nurses will be handling your cases this morning. There was a big fire down on Michigan Ave, and Dr. Hunt's going to need all hands on deck in the E.R."

Sebastian and Mike exchanged a quick high five. "First ten minutes of the day and we're already scrubbing in!" Sebastian crows.

"Really," Rachel sniffs. "Sometimes I swear those two forget that we're operating on real people, not just corpses in the skills lab."

"Burn victims are always some of the best," Dr. Yang is saying. "All sorts of undiagnosed internal injuries, and great for plastics work."

"Yeah," Kurt says wryly. "There seems to be a problem with that at this hospital."

They head down to the pit, grabbing and tying on their gowns as they went. As usual, Kurt tied up Rachel's, and she helped with his. "Do you think. . ."

"Yes," Kurt snapped. "I think that Finn will be there."

"Do you"

"No, it's not a good time to flirt with him."

"But isn't."

"No."

"You don't even know what I was going to ask!"

"I don't need to, Rach. When it comes to you and the inestimable Finn Hudson, the answer is always no."

Rachel doesn't get the chance to respond, as an ambulance careens in, lights flashing and sirens blaring. The four interns hang back, fingers itching and knees slightly bent, each ready to jump on the first case that looks like it might require surgery. The doors to the ambulance open, and a ridiculously tall man begins wheeling out a gurney.

"I've got it!" Rachel yells.

"She hasn't even seen what the injury is. . ." Mike says slowly, clearly unable to believe that any intern would give up the possibility of surgery.

"Ah," Sebastian points out drolly. "But have you noticed who is pushing the stretcher?"

By this point Rachel, Finn, and the injured person have left the ambulance bay and entered the hospital proper. A second gurney is being wheeled out. The poor figure on it is a mass of burned, red flesh, some of it already flaking off. His right arm is set at an awkward angle, though the EMTs have clearly tried to strap it normally across his chest. There's a glint of white peeking through his forearm.

Unfortunately, Sebastian clearly saw the bone fragment before he did, and leapt forward to claim the case. Dr. Yang was on a walkie talkie, alerting Dr. Hunt to all of the injuries as they came in.

The first ambulance was quickly followed by a second. A stretcher was quickly wheeled out, and Mike ran forward to attend to it. Kurt blinked slowly, irritated at how off he was. Usually he was quicker than this, usually he would have gotten to the arm-bone guy long before Sebastian. He's just tired, that's all. It just isn't fair that he's coming off a shift when everyone else is coming on and this is when there's a freaking fire.

"Number four. Number four!" It takes him a while to notice that Dr. Yang is yelling at him.

"I'm number two," he points out slowly.

"Not today, you're not," she responds. "Number two would have heard me on the first go. Check out the kid. Now."

Kurt looks around bewildered, having no idea who she's talking about. He hadn't seen a kid get off the ambulance, just the EMTs and the gurney and

When he turns, he sees that Mike and the EMTs have stopped just inside the ambulance bay and are watching him closely. It takes a moment – another slow blink (they really shouldn't let anyone work thise 36 hour shifts, they're completely insane, and the 24 hour rest period doesn't make up for it, it just _doesn't_) – and then he realizes that there's only one EMT, and the other guy is a civilian.

A very, very cute civilian, with sweaty, matted dark curls and bright amber eyes peering out from beneath soot. He looks perfectly fine, other than the soot and the occasional cough – probably some smoke inhalation, but certainly no surgery needed, and he considers pointing that out to Dr. Yang. But then he notices that she's still glaring at him, and he thinks that he's better off just finishing out the day and going home. He probably shouldn't be performing surgery anyway.

"Hi," he says, going over to everyone. "I'm Dr. Hummel. Why don't you come with me, Mr. . .um. . ."

"Anderson," The young man says, white teeth shining against smoke-blackened skin. "I can't, though, I'm kind of. . .um. . ."

It's then that Kurt notices that he has his hand pressed against the burn victims chest, fingers clenched tightly around a sodden red piece of fabric. It used to be a dull green color, Kurt thinks, and notices a button ginting dully in the hospital's flurescent lighting. A shirt.

Mr. Anderson is only wearing a tight, white undershirt, mostly grey now, but a nice way to show off his arms.

Kurt shakes his head. "Mike?"

"Got it," the other intern says. He'd been using two hands on the bag, but drops one to place his hand over Anderson's. "Hey, Mr. Anderson, you've got to let go now, okay? Let Dr. Hummel take care of you. We've got this."

Mr. Anderson blinks once, twice, slow and almost unsure. His fingers tighten momentarily on the soaked shirt before releasing. He takes a shuddering breath and steps back. Mike and the E.M.T. instantly begin hurtling down to the back triage room, the one with a crash cart and more gauze than any others. Kurt and Mr. Anderson watch them go.

"He'll be fine," Kurt says after a moment, hoping that he sounds more chipper than he feels. "Come on, let's go check you out."

"Oh, I'm. . .I'm fine," Mr. Anderson says, taking a brief pause in the middle to cough. His entire body doubles over when he coughs, and one fist clutches spasmodically at his side.

"Mmmhmm," Kurt says, placing a gentle hand on the other man's shoulder to guide him toward one of the beds. "That cough of yours isn't a problem at all. Here, I'll hook you up to some oxygen and we'll give you a once over."

The man allows himself to be eased down into a bed, though Kurt makes certain to place plenty of pillows behind his back, keeping his airway open and his lungs free. He quickly obtains oxygen and fits a nasal canula for Mr. Anderson. The other man breathes a quiet "thank you." As Kurt works on that, he tries to gauge the rest of the man's injuries. He doesn't spot any burns, however, and none of this clothing seems scorched. He has a long, thing cut up on arm that's oozing a little bit of blood, but Kurt doubts it needs anything but a quick smear of antibiotics. Mr. Anderson, other than having inhaled a bit of smoke, seems to be perfectly fine.

"I'll have one of the nurses bring you over paperwork in a moment," Kurt mumbles as he finishes and steps back. "I don't see any other. . .that is to say. . .are you hurt anywhere, could you possibly be burned, or. . ."

"Oh, no," Mr. Anderson says. His hands flutter aimlessly around his mid-section. Kurt wonders if he's Italian, with his dark looks and the way he seems incapable of speaking without using his hands. "No, no, I wasn't even in the building."

Kurt lifts one eyebrow. Mr. Anderson flushes – very prettily, Kurt would note, if he weren't currently working and therefore under a strict ethical obligation not to check out his patients.

"I was just driving past, and I noticed a school bus, and I thought. . .I'm a teacher, and I just thought about how I would feel if I were on a school trip and then. . .so I had to run in and help. But really, all that I did was help the kids out, and then I saw that poor guy trapped under a table, so I had to get that out of the way and help him out, and then. . .well, I guess that's it, actually." He huffs out an embarrassed-sounding laugh at the end, lifting his hand and gently running it through his hair. He's avoiding eye contact.

"That's very laudable," Kurt says, his voice low and soft. Mr. Anderson glances up at him – oh, God, through the thickest, longest eyelashes that Kurt has ever seen on a man, and he needs to leave _now_ – and smiles. Kurt takes a deep breath, and manages a tremulous smile back. "I'll have the nurses"

"Um. . ." Mr. Anderson interrupts him. The blush is still high on his cheeks. "I'm sure there's a hospital policy against it, or something, but. . .um. . .I was wondering if maybe you were free after work today. . ."

Kurt bites back the grin that's threatening to take over his face. He coughs a little to gain his composure, before shaking his head regretfully. "Very strict policy against dating our current patients."

He turns to walk out, looking for a nurse who can get Mr. Anderson situated with the multiple papers he'll have to sign before being discharged.

"Dr. Hummel. . .what are former patients?"

Kurt grins, and pretends to think about it. "No," he says slowly. "I don't believe they ever covered that in our briefing. . ."

XXX

"Jackpot!" Sebastian crows when he comes into the locker room after rounds, almost two weeks after the fire. Kurt still hasn't seen or heard from Mr. Anderson, and he's more than a little disappointed. He'd really thought, after his response in the E.R., that the other man would have come back to the hospital at some point, or looked him up in the yellowpages or something.

Fine. That's not the exact truth. He'd been hoping that Mr. Anderson would be sitting in the lobby when he'd gotten off the shift, a bouquet of yellow and red roses and a big cup of steaming hot chocolate (with whipped cream, because his hips could handle a little fat after having been walked around on for 36 hours) and ready to whisk him off to his penthouse apartment on Lakeshore Drive. Even at the time, near-delirious with lack of sleep, however, he had recognize that as being somewhat less than the most likely scenario.

It was probably for the best, however. Boards were coming up, and he really couldn't afford to be spending too much time with a boyfriend. He and Rachel have been cramming almost every night, and Mike's been sneaking flashcards into rounds, tucked into his shoes, his pockets, and once even his boxer briefs. Only Sebastian has seemed relatively unfazed by the upcoming exam, still acting likes his smarmy, smirky self.

"What's the jackpot this time, Timon?" Santana sneers.

"My guy in 262," Sebastian says. "This guy is sex on a stick and has about the tightest ass I have ever seen. Hot damn I would hit that. Mm-mmm."

The other interns all exchange slightly bemused looks.

"I say go for it," Santana says.

"It's against the rules," Rachel hisses.

"Yeah, so is dating an EMT and not filing with HR," Santana shoots back, which immediately shuts Rachel up. "Besides. If the infamous Izzy Stevens and Dr. Karev could get away with it, it can't be too hard."

"Oh, don't worry, the minute this pretty pony gets off bedrest, I'm getting some," Sebastian says. "Might be a little hard right now, though, seeing as he's all tied up to a thousand wires."

Kurt feels a little uncomfortable talking about a patient like this, but being as Brittany and Santana had both missed worked yesterday and Rachel is sporting a brand new piece of bling on her finger, he's pretty confident that the only other avenues for conversation are ones he would like even less. "What's he in for?"

"Liver transplant," Sebastian says. They all whistle out shortly. "I know, right! Not only do I get a tight ass and a dreamy pair of eyes, I get to scrub in on a surgery. You all hate me right now, don't you?"

"Oh, not just now, CW," Kurt says.

"That's pretty much an always feeling," Santana agrees. Sebastian just flicks them off.

XXX

It's two days later and Sebastian, unsurprisingly, has decided to blow off work. He claims that he has the flu, but Kurt has his doubts. It seems a little suspicious that he would come down with the flu mere hours after an ex fuck buddy flew into town. Then again, there's a reason that Kurt barely passed his course in Infectious Diseases.

Real flu or desire to get laid, the fact remains that Sebastian isn't at work and Kurt has the lucky job of checking on all of his pre-op patients. Most of them are fine. Ms. Dalton had pinched his cheeks and called him the most adorable thing she'd ever seen, Mr. Tomlinson and Mr. Smith had both been sleeping, all of their numbers well within the range necessary. He only has one more patient to check on before he can clock out. Unfortunately, when he gets to Room 262, it's completely empty.

"Just what I need," Kurt mutters, walking in. He glances around the room, not really knowing what he's expecting to find. It's not like patients routinely hide in dark corners to avoid their doctors checking on them. Especially not when they're scheduled for an early morning surgery the next day.

Kurt really doesn't have the time or patience for this tonight, and he's leaning more and more toward Sebastian not being actually sick, so he pulls out his cell and calls his colleague. Unsurprisingly, it goes straight to voicemail. Kurt grumbles a little, but just hits redial. The third time that he calls, Sebastian finally picks up.

"God, Hummel, what the fuck is wrong with you?"

"Your patient is missing."

"It's _your_ patient tonight, what the hell are you bothering me for? I have the flu, I'm supposed to be sleeping!" There's a low giggle from the other side of the line, and Kurt just rolls his eyes.

"Whatever, Sebastian. I'm doing you a favor, the least you can do is tell me if you have any idea where he might be."

"Who?"

"The guy you said is sex on a stick, dreamy eyes, and the tightest ass you've ever seen."

There's the sound of a phone being dropped, muffled slightly by what Kurt assumes is a pillow. He can't make out words, but there are raised voices, the sound of something cracking, and a yelp before the phone is picked up. "God, Hummel, you're a total bitch."

"Where's your patient?"

"I don't know, okay! It's not like I kidnapped the guy. Check pediatrics, he wanders down there sometimes."

Kurt hangs up. There's no way that this patient is "wandering down to pediatrics." Granted, he hasn't taken the time to read the file yet, but by the way that Sebastian's been talking, the guy is almost on death's door. Still, it's the only lead he has, and tonight Dr. Bailey is in charge of the interns and the last thing he wants to do is go and tell her that he lost a patient.

He notices that the hallways are strangely empty in the pediatrics wing. Usually they're bustling more than the others, with worried parents milling around and overly peppy nurses. There's still Nurse Hopkins at the desk, dutifully manning the phones, but the overall atmosphere is extremely subdued. He hopes that one of the babies hasn't passed. . .it always puts a damper over the entire wing when that happens.

Now that he's here, he doesn't really know how he's supposed to look for the patient. He can't very well start busting into the various rooms, and he highly doubts that a guy waiting for a liver transplant would wander all the way down here to use a bathroom. The confusion must be showing on his face, because Nurse Hopkins calls him over, beckoning with one large, meaty hand.

"Can I help you with something, hon?"

"Yes, I. . .I know this is going to sound a little crazy, but I'm actually looking for a patient."

"Oh," Nurse Hopkins smiles and nods. "Blaine. Of course. He's down in the playroom."

"O. . .kay," Kurt says. The nurse is still smiling at him, and he waves awkwardly and heads toward the playroom. There's a soft sound of music playing as he nears it, the not-quite-in-tune strains from the hospital piano.

"_You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy, when skies are grey_. . ."

There's actually a small crowd gathered around the room, two of the on-duty nurses standing in the hallway. More confused than ever, Kurt gently brushes by them and enters the room.

And freezes.

He's there. Mr. Anderson, teacher-hero who darts into burning buildings and doesn't bother to check in after asking a guy out for a date is sitting at the piano bench, smiling weakly to a little girl next to him, skin sallow and jaundiced, but still perfectly on key. The little girl giggles as he finishes the song. He closes his eyes, and gently puts one hand on her head. Kurt clears his throat.

"Mr. Anderson?"

His head jerks around, paling a little more at the sudden movement. When his eyes light on Kurt's, his face lights up inot the brightest smile Kurt has ever seen. His stomach does a quick little flipflop, a pancake-flipping sensation that lands heavy at the bottom of this gut. He can't believe that he hadn't noticed anything wrong with the man when he'd been in three weeks ago for the smoke – the soot and the smoke-reddened eyes had kept him from noting the symptoms of liver disease.

"Dr. Hummel!"

Kurt huffs a little, moving forward to fuss over the other man and to check that his IV lines are all in their proper position. He's close enough to smell the other man's shampoo, the dry, chalky smell that he associates with all of the hospital products.

"I. . .uh. . .expected to see you a little while ago," he admits lowly. He reaches out a hand and helps Mr. Anderson to his feet, supporting a portion of the other mans weight. There's a soft outcry from the children as they notice that their evening entertainment is being taken away, and Mr. Anderson takes a moment to smile and wave at each child and to promise to come back after his operation.

"Sorry," he says gently, leaning a little more heavily on Kurt as they hobble down the hallway back to his ward. "But you did say that I had to be a _former_ patient. And since I knew I was checking in for the surgery in just a week or so. . ."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Kurt asks. "I was doing your medical history, I asked. . ."

Mr. Anderson coughs. "I. . .uh. . .honestly, I didn't want you to see me like this," he says.

"Like what?"

They freeze in the hallway for a moment, Mr. Anderson staring at him. His eyes are sparkling, even in the horrible hospital lighting, and Kurt realizes that he was wrong in thinking they were amber. They're green, right now, almost startling so, with flecks of gold all along the outside of the iris. They're beautiful, even set against the dull yellow that indicates a failing liver. His eyelashes are as long and dark as Kurt remembers, clumped together slightly as though he's been crying.

"Like. . .like _this_. All sweaty and weak and pathetic. I didn't want to just be the sick guy."

"You're not. . .don't be ridiculous," Kurt says. They continue to walk down the hallway. All too soon they come to room 262, and Kurt is helping Mr. Anderson into his bed.

"Thanks," the patient says, almost sighing in relief as he settles under the thin hospital covers. "It was probably a bad idea to go there tonight, but I just feel so bad for the kids. . .it's rough."

Kurt finally picks up the chart, and begins glancing through it. He frowns a little at some of the numbers. Mr. Anderson – _Blaine_, he notices, is the first name on the file – is sick. Very, very sick. And while of course he already knew that, both from Sebastian's stories in the locker rooms and the very fact that nobody gets a liver transplant just for fun, or because they're feeling a little under the weather, it's still a terrifying sensation to read the print-outs. He looks sick – the sallow skin, the eyes, the way that his hair is sweat=slick against his forehead after having walked just across the hospital. Still.

He clears his throat, as he takes Blaine's temperature. "You really, uh, like kids, don't you?"

"Yeah," Mr. Anderson says softly. "They're still so full of hope, you know? And they're so resilient, so strong. Like the kids in that fire – they were all back at school the next day. And the kids here just want to go home and play in the woods with their friends, and eat chocolate cake, and. . .it's really inspiring."

"Hmmm," Kurt finishes checking the monitors, heart rate, and pulse. He quickly scribbles it all down in the chart and realizes, with not just a little sense of relief, that Blaine should still be fine for the surgery in the morning, despite the late night excursion.

"Dr. Hummel," the voice is soft, almost on the verge of sleep. "If you don't mind my asking. . .why are you here tonight, instead of Dr. Smythe?"

Kurt's stomach drops again, remembering all of the hints that Sebastian had been dropping in the locker room about running away with his hot patient. Only now does his brain make the connection. He tries to buy time, fiddling with knobs at the side of Mr. Anderson's bed that don't actually do anything. He's still fiddling when a broad, warm hand drops over his and closes. It's strong, stable. . .doesn't feel like it belongs to a dying man.

"It's okay," Mr. Anderson says lowly. "I'd much prefer you, anyway. Dr. Smythe is a little. . .um. . .aggressive."

"He's a predatory shark," Kurt snaps before he can stop. He glances up to see the patient smiling at him, biting his lower lip a little to keep the giggles in. "I'm sorry," Kurt says. "That was unprofessional of me."

"I like it," Mr. Anderson says. "You know what I said last time. . .in the ER. It still stands. When I'm a former patient, I'd really like to take you out."

"I would really like that, too, Mr. Anderson," Kurt says. The other man grins.

"Blaine," he says. "Call me Blaine."

"Well then, Blaine. I would like that, too. But first let's just get you through the surgery, ok?"

XXX

It's Tuesday morning, and Kurt should be at home, sleeping. He should be enjoying this all-too rare day off, or if not that, he should be sequestered in the library, frantically trying to cram some last minute info into his mind in preparation for the Boards. Instead, however, he's sitting in the hospital lobby, nervously tapping his feet, a bouquet of yellow and red roses hanging loosely in his hands.

"Hey, Kurt!"

Rachel has walked almost all the way past him before she stops, slowly turning around, a look of clear confusion on her face. "Kurt? What are you doing out here? Are you waiting for someone?"

"I. . .uh. . ."

As per usual, however, Rachel doesn't actually need someone else to speak to keep up a conversation. Her hands immediately fly to her mouth. "Oh my! Are you and Sebastian. . .?"

"Me and Seb. . .what? No! What would make you think that?"

"Oh." Rachel lets out a long sigh. "oh, thank goodness. He's the only other gay guy that I know who works here." She pauses and looks up at him. "But if you aren't waiting for Sebastian, who _are_ you waiting for?"

Kurt scuffs his feet a little on the ground and mumbles.

"I'm sorry, Kurt, but you have to enunciate better if I'm suppose to understand you."

"I'm waiting for visiting hours."

"What? Why?"

At first, Kurt assumes that she's still being her normal, judgmental self. But then when he considers her words, it makes a lot of sense. He's a doctor. He has a security pass. If he were working, he could just walk right in to Blaine's room, so what on earth is keeping him from doing that right now?

"Thanks, Rachel," he says, patting her on the arm.

"What did I do? I mean. . .you're very welcome."

Kurt hurries up the stairs and down to room 262. The flowers feel a little heavier in his hand with every step. It's a stupid gesture, and it's inappropriate and highly unprofessional, and he really shouldn't be here, and he should just turn around and. . .and. . .

There's laughter, and two voices coming from the room. Probably one of the doctors, Kurt assumes, as he steps in, the flowers feeling like a heavy weight. Maybe it's Sebastian, although the voice hadn't sounded familiar. . .

As he rounds the corner he's relieved to see Blaine, sitting up in bed, amber-green eyes dancing and sparkling like always, his smile broad and without a worry. Sitting at the end of his bed is a man even _more_ attractive, which is really unfair, Kurt thinks, followed up by a quiet _oh_.

Oh.

He's never had to wonder if Blaine was gay . . .that was clear from their first meeting. And he'd assumed that the other man was available. But, finally separated from his earlier naivetee, that had carried him through college and med school, he realizes that "available" doesn't' necessarily mean "single." It doesn't mean he's not seeing anyone, or doesn't have "special friends" as Sebastian likes to phrase them, or doesn't have an incredibly, insanely good-looking ex in the wings who will swoop in and rescue him after a life-threatening condition and surgery.

It's for the best, Kurt tries to remind himself. He has to study for the Boards. He needs to figure out fellowship opportunities. He needs to do a solo surgery and he can't do all of that if he's wasting time pining over a guy.

"Dr. Hummel!"

Unfortunately, while he's been having an existential crisis, Blaine has noticed his presence. There's something soft in the other man's expression, a gentleness that wasn't there a moment ago, and he beckons for Kurt to enter.

"I thought. . .uh. . .I didn't know you worked today."

"I don't," Kurt admits. He awkwardly begins putting the bouquet into a vase, filling it with water from the room's sink, and placing it beside Blaine's bed. "I just wanted to check in on you."

"Wow," the stranger says enthusiastically. "Really top notch staff they have here. Will there be flowers in my room when I go back?"

It's only then that Kurt notices what the other man is wearing – or not wearing, as the case is, and he's wearing the hospital issued soft sweatshirt and a pair of sweatpants. Not exactly what most visitors wear, and Kurt's a little ashamed that he hadn't instantly honed in on attire.

"Dr. Hummel, this is my brother, Cooper," Blaine says, still smiling with an almost starstruck quality. "He. . .um. . .he donated a portion of his liver."

"Oh," Kurt says, almost dumb with surprise. And then, a moment later. "Oh. Oh! Hello, it's nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you, Dr. Hummel," Cooper says, a sly look in his eyes as he glances between Kurt and his brother. "So, you and the squirt –"

"Don't call me that."

"You his doctor?"

"Um, no, I'm not," Kurt says. "I mean, I was. But I'm not."

"He's the one I told you about," Blaine says insistently. "After the fire. He was the one in the E.R."

"He was. . .oh!" Cooper's mouth drops open. "You're Doctor McSexy!"

Kurt's mouth drops open and Blaine groans. Cooper just seems delighted.

"Blaine! Good eyes, bro! He _is_ pretty cute. And totally your type!"

"Just kill me now," Blaine says. "Cooper, could you just. . .I don't know. . ._leave_?"

"Oh, I see how it is," Cooper says, still chortling a little. "Donate half a liver and you still get kicked out for a piece of tail."

"Oh my _God_, _Cooper_."

The older man leans over and tousles Blaine's curly hair, before turning to Kurt and holding out a hand. "It was very nice to meet you, Dr. Hummel McSexy," he says, an impish grin on his face. He winks once and then sashays out, or does his best attempt, given he's pulling an IV line with him.

"Dr. Hummel, I'm _so_ sorry about him," Blaine says, his eyes wide open, and Kurt is pleased to see that already the yellow poison is retreating from the whites. "That was completely inappropriate."

"Did you really call me Dr. McSexy?" Kurt asks, and when Rachel asks him later, he most definitely will _not_ tell her that he bats his eyes flirtatiously. Blaine blushes, which is plenty of confirmation. "It's okay," Kurt says. "We talked about you, too. I called you The Teacher Hero. Sebastian called you sex on a stick. Rachel called you cutie-patootie."

Blaine groans again. Kurt can't stop the laugh. "Well," Blaine says after a moment, glancing at the flowers. "It was really nice of you to come visit. You didn't have to do that."

"Actually," Kurt says softly. "I think I kind of did. Besides, I had to make sure that you're free next week Thursday."

"Next week. . .why?" Blaine asks.

"Because word around the nurses station is that you'll be discharged then. And I believe you still owe me a date."

Blaine grins, and suddenly Kurt doesn't care so much about a stupid test, or scrubbing in for a silly surgery. "I think you're right, Dr. Hummel."

"Call me Kurt."

XXX

Blaine doesn't show up in the lobby holding a bouquet before their date. He doesn't bring flowers, or dress up fancy. He's just wheeled to the front of the hospital, where the nurses give him hugs, and hand him a few handmade cards from the kids, and elicit his promise to come back and visit and play for everyone. And then he stands up, accepts Kurt's hand and help, and steps into a taxi.

He does, however, hold Kurt's hand for the entire car ride to the restaurant, and stares at him lovingly throughout all of dinner, and sings softly in his ear when they say good-bye. His hair still smells like the hospital that night.

On their next date, it smells like raspberries.


End file.
